


the life of rooks and pawns

by sailingthenightsea



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Big Brother Technoblade, Graphic Description, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Michael my beloved, Mind Manipulation, Oh um, Platonically Married Ranboo and Toby Smith | Tubbo, Protective Ranboo, Protective Technoblade, Protective Tubbo, Soft Techno, Technosoft, This Is Fine, Violence, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, a lot of this was me practicing action scenes sooo, angryinnit, but they are siblings, dream is like implied, etc - Freeform, i kinda spedran this, inspired by a really fucking cool tiktok which is linked in the notes, its fineee, just so you know, may do a fluffy sequel, michael is the entire basis of my emotional stability, no beta we die like ranboo and techno tryna speedrun, tommy is in this for like only a minute but i couldn't just Leave Him, wilbur isn't in this tho :(, yknow the basics of dsmp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 16:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30074880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingthenightsea/pseuds/sailingthenightsea
Summary: Somewhere in that hellhole of a prison, a game of chess is played.✧When Tubbo hears the front door open, he’s in the kitchen, washing up after feeding Michael and finally, finally getting him down for a nap.He’s humming a song he can’t really place and the sun is warm through the open window above the sink. It’s good. It’s really good. In a way it hasn’t been in a very long time.✧The Blood God shifts Michael on his hip and bounces him lightly, not even blinking when the boy catches one of the small braids hanging around his face. “Not to make you second guess your decision here, but since when do you trust me?”✧insp by this incredible comic!! check it outhereandhere!
Relationships: Michael & Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Michael & Technoblade, Ranboo & Technoblade, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Technoblade, Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 417
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	the life of rooks and pawns

**Author's Note:**

> heed the tags!!!!
> 
> aright folks there will be no shipping in this fic pls leave if that is what u came here for that is gröss no one in this fic is cool w that so We Do Not Do The It
> 
> thank u
> 
> if u haven't already!! go check out the comic that inspired a major part of this fic!!! by @polkah-dotti on tumblr and @polkahdotti on tiktok
> 
> alright honestly i don't really think y'all need any other info so go,, be free,, enjoy :)

“I didn’t know where else to go,” is the first thing Tommy says, mumbled and defensive with shoulders up around his ears and refusing to look Technoblade in the eye.

The second thing is a soft, dumbfounded _oh_ when he finds himself pulled tightly against his brother’s chest.

“Never,” Techno growls (or maybe pleads, Tommy can’t really tell between the wavering monotone and the disbelief in his own mind), “do that again.”

Tommy scoffs, and hides his wince when it hurts, his throat still raw from where Dream wrapped his hands around it. “What? Leave when you’re being a dickhead?” It is, as always, a test of boundaries. How far can he push before he’s not worth the effort? How far until he’s on his own again?

How far until there’s another pair of hands? More fists and pain and unanswered pleading to _stop please just stop-_

“Let me think you're dead,” Techno answers and he sounds as close to wrecked as Techno can get.

Tommy laughs then, dark and empty. “I _was_ dead. I died. He killed me and then he _brought me back_.”

His older brother looks almost sick. He holds Tommy tighter and he doesn’t let go.

. * ° ₒ ○ ° ₊ ✧ ₊ ° ○ ₒ ° * .

It’s in the middle of Tommy ranting about how L’Manberg _celebrated_ his death and how no one cared, no one even _believed him_ , they thought it was all a joke, a _prank_ \- when he nearly shouts “and my _best friend_ got _fucking married_ while _I_ was _trapped_ with _Dream_ ” and Techno makes the mistake of asking who married Tubbo.

Phil stiffens before Tommy answers and that’s enough of a red flag that Techno’s already half sure who it is when his little brother spits out the name.

. * ° ₒ ○ ° ₊ ✧ ₊ ° ○ ₒ ° * .

“Thought I might find you here.”

Ranboo freezes. He lets his eyes slip closed and he sighs, defeated. This was never gonna last, he always knew that one way or another he couldn’t keep these two halves of his world from colliding.

 _Damage control_ , he tells himself and then he almost snorts at how woefully unprepared he is for that task. Tommy is- was- _is_ Techno’s brother and even he couldn’t stop him from spawning the withers in L’Manberg.

Twice over, if the stories held any truth.

He turns to face the man who once saved him, the man he would never, _never_ willingly betray, knowing that this is exactly what betrayal looks like to him.

“Techno,” he begins, but he’s cut off.

“Because a little birdy told me,” Techno begins, stalking forward dangerously, “that I had _well wishes_ to bestow upon the _happy couple_.”

A small warble slips past Ranboo’s lips, betraying his nerves. “Just listen to me-”

Suddenly there’s a hand gripping his shirt and Techno’s in his face, seething. “You _married_ the leader of Snowchester,” he spits. “A _power hungry tyrant_ -”

“Watch it,” Ranboo warns.

Techno laughs, derisive and cruel. _Hurt_ , Ranboo thinks, _more than anything._ “You’re a _traitor_.”

“It’s not that simple, Technoblade.”

“Oh yeah? Explain it to me then, Ranboo, because from where I’m standin’ it’s _pretty damn clear_.”

Ranboo doesn’t flinch, just calmly matches Techno’s glare. “I have something I want to protect.”

“Protect? _Protect_?!” Techno shakes him lightly, but doesn’t let go. “What is it? Heh?! What could you possibly have that you need to _pro_ … tect.”

Even without his son’s soft voice sounding from behind him, he would know what Techno had seen by the shock that melted his rage and slackened his grip.

“Why don’t you unhand me,” he begins, cooly, “in front of my _son_.”

Techno lets go and takes a step back, eyes still fixed on the boy even as Ranboo goes to pick him up.

“Hey, Michael,” he says softly. “Wanna meet my friend?” At his son’s shy nod, Ranboo smiles, feeling the anger dissipate easily with Michael’s hands fiddling with the now wrinkled fabric of his shirt. “His name is Techno.”

The man watches Michael being carried over to him like Ranboo has a stack of TNT instead of a very small, very sleepy child.

“He doesn’t bite,” Ranboo jokes.

Techno scoffs, only taking his eyes off the kid for long enough to shoot Ranboo a very dry look. “I survived Tommy at this age, I think I can handle a piglin bite. Probably cleaner.” Then to Michael, he lets out a quiet string of grunts and squeals. It comes out stilted like he hasn’t spoken piglin for a long while but confident in the way of someone who’s known the language all his life.

Michael’s eyes light up and he chatters back in rapid fire, once or twice pausing and saying a word in English before continuing on. Techno, to his credit, keeps up easily, quickly falling back into the rhythm of the language Ranboo and Tubbo have both been massively struggling with.

After a minute Michael reaches for Techno, who takes him from Ranboo with more grace than either of the young parents possess. Michael brushes his fingers lightly over Techno’s ears and tusks and then his eyelids.

“Like me,” Michael says softly, looking back at Ranboo for approval.

“Yeah, buddy, he is like you.” He gives Techno a half hopeful half pleading look. “Maybe he can help Daddy talk like you?”

Techno rolls his eyes. “I suppose learning a semi-secret language wouldn’t be a _terrible_ idea for the Syndicate.”

Ranboo grins and breathes easy for the first time in a long time. Everything’s gonna be okay. He’s not alone anymore. This, messy as it is, is his family. Michael and Tubbo, the Syndicate.

No matter what happens he knows he’ll have them all by his side.

. * ° ₒ ○ ° ₊ ✧ ₊ ° ○ ₒ ° * .

Somewhere in that hellhole of a prison, a game of chess is played.

. * ° ₒ ○ ° ₊ ✧ ₊ ° ○ ₒ ° * .

When Tubbo hears the front door open, he’s in the kitchen, washing up after feeding Michael and finally, _finally_ getting him down for a nap.

He’s humming a song he can’t really place and the sun is warm through the open window above the sink. It’s good. It’s _really_ good. In a way it hasn’t been in a very long time.

At the sound of Ranboo coming in through the door, Tubbo smiles and it’s real in a way it hasn’t been in a very, _very_ long time.

The dish towel drops to the floor as Tubbo moves toward the front of their house, chores forgotten as he goes to greet his friend, to tell him about his day, all the cute things Michael did that he missed, and ask about his own. There’s already the start of a story on his tongue when he turns the corner.

The shift in the air isn’t something Tubbo can describe, but it registers loud and clear in some deep primal part of his brain. It screams at him _predator danger threat run run run-_

_RUN_

He feels the smile, now strained and brittle, stay plastered on his face even as cold dread washes over him. His heart thunders against his ribs and his stomach twists into knots.

Ranboo’s not looking at him. He doesn’t seem to be looking at anything and his face is blank in a way that pings around his head as deeply, _deeply_ wrong.

Every nerve in his body tells him to flee, to get away, to take Michael and _go_ , but this is _Ranboo_. This is his husband, his co-parent, his _friend_.

It takes a second to make his throat open, to unclench his jaw and to convince his stupid fear soaked brain to make a noise.

“Ranboo?” he asks hesitantly, voice shaking no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Regret is something he’s deeply familiar with. He felt it when he didn’t run after Tommy and Wilbur the day Schlatt was elected. He felt it as he sent Tommy away from the nation he helped build _again_. He felt it just days ago when Tommy looked at him with eyes full of rage hiding more hurt than Tubbo knows how to be sorry for.

So when Ranboo’s cold empty eyes snap to his with a suddenness and speed so unusual for the man who tries so hard to hide every hint of Enderman nature in him (to soften all his edges and curl himself down into something smaller, less intimidating, to make himself into something harmless, something human in spite of his appearance), Tubbo knows the feeling of bile crawling up his throat and his stomach bottoming out.

 _That’s not Ranboo_ , he thinks. And then, _FUCK-_

He goes for the stairs, making it up most of the way before he hears the familiar vwoop of an enderman teleporting and feels Ranboo’s hands close around him. In the next moment, pain is flaring across his shoulders and the back of his head is snapping back with the force of impact, colliding painfully with the wooden floors. He wheezes, trying to fight against the feeling of getting the wind knocked out of him. Ranboo’s stalking towards him and Tubbo scrambles to his feet, ignoring the way the world just slightly spins.

_Vwoop!_

He’s yanked backwards by the neck of his shirt and sent crashing into the far wall. He pushes himself to his feet again and ignores the fact that his left shoulder is definitely dislocated

“Ranboo, it’s _me_ ,” he pleads. “It’s Tubbo. You _know_ me.”

Tubbo’s unarmed, but he’s not sure it matters. He wouldn’t fight Ranboo, not when it’s so obviously not him. He’s completely helpless and he knows it. There’s no world where Tubbo beats Ranboo in a fight even if he gave it his all.

“Please,” he begs, but hands wrap around his throat and slam him once, twice, three times into the wall as he claws desperately at his husband's fingers. The world spins outright now. His ears ring, his vision tinges black.

He kicks desperately at the air beneath his feet, the movements uncoordinated and panicked. All in vain, he thinks distantly, but then he can breathe again. He’s crumpled on the floor and he doesn’t think he could possibly stand, but he can breathe.

None of it matters when he hears Ranboo start to move away from him and he remembers there are much more important things in this house than himself. He catches Ranboo’s ankle and it’s barely a grip, easily broken, easily ignored, but Ranboo wrenches his ankle free and turns back to Tubbo, kicking him once hard in the face and then over and over and over in the ribs and stomach.

He thinks maybe it’ll never end. He knows if it does, then it’s only because he’s dead.

The fireworks Techno shot him with broke his ribs, shattered them, collapsed his chest completely. He felt it, underneath the burning and the rest of the ripping apart, but it had been so fast it’s easy to forget how excruciating the pain had been.

This, he thinks, this is different. Slower. He feels it as each rib cracks and his breathing rattles, catching and splattering blood on his lips. If he survives, he hopes to the gods that it fades in his memory like all the other hurts he’s felt.

And then, and then, it stops. He forces his eyes open because Ranboo, this Ranboo, whoever’s controlling Ranboo, wouldn’t stop without a reason.

When he finds it, he hears a desperate, terrified sound and litany of pleas spill from his own lips.

“Not him,” he begs Ranboo, Dream, the gods and the fates and anyone, _anyone_ else who might could stop this, prevent _this_ . “Not him, not my baby, please, gods, _not him_. Kill me, Dream, kill me, but just leave him, _please_.”

But Ranboo just stares at the little boy clinging to the stair railings with tears shining bright in his eye. The moment feels like it lasts for decades, Tubbo choking on terror and his own blood, Michael flickering his gaze between his fathers, and Ranboo standing at his full height, unnaturally still, pinning their baby in place with the same cold empty stare.

Then he’s gone. He’s gone and the violet sparks of magic fade into the loudest silence Tubbo has ever heard.

Michael sobs, once, terrified, and the spell breaks. Tubbo drags himself off the ground to stumble across the room to scoop his precious, perfect son into his arms.

. * ° ₒ ○ ° ₊ ✧ ₊ ° ○ ₒ ° * .

The Blood God shifts Michael on his hip and bounces him lightly, not even blinking when the boy catches one of the small braids hanging around his face. “Not to make you second guess your decision here, but since when do you trust me?”

Tubbo stops where he’s arranging Michael’s things and presses his palms against the table. He closes his eyes and braces his weight on his arms briefly before sighing and turning to face Technoblade. “I don’t,” he answers coolly. “But I do trust my husband and he wouldn’t do anything to endanger Michael, including bringing him along to your… _book club_. Besides, I know what you’re capable of—more than most—and you’re the only person I know who can protect Michael against _anyone_.” He sighs again, running a stressed hand through his already messy hair. “And you’re the only one who can protect him _without_ killing Ranboo.”

 _And, if it comes down to it,_ he doesn’t say, _you’re the only one who can definitely kill Ranboo._

(Techno hears it anyway and he doesn’t resent the burden like he once might have. He wears it dutifully, Atlas with the heavens on his shoulders. Gods, is he tired.)

Tubbo sits down, every line of his body sagging under the weight of this. Exhaustion clings to him. Grief drags at him. It’s half suicidal to go after Ranboo at all, let alone like this, but Tubbo’s just desperate enough to try it anyway.

Techno hums. “You should rest,” he says in the same even tone as always. “He already almost killed you once today.”

Tubbo’s shaking his head before Techno can even finish. “No, no, I can’t- I already lost Tommy,” he says, tired, always so tired. “I can’t lose Ranboo, too.”

Techno doesn’t give anything away, not that he really expected him to. _Good_ , Tubbo thinks. _He needs peace. He more than deserves it._

It’s a strange thing, to walk away from the cabin alone, knowing two of the three people that matter the most to him in the world are hidden away in there with the man who executed him.

The man he tried to execute in turn.

But he knows, too, finds peace in the solid truth that behind Technoblade is the only place anyone could ever truly be safe from Dream. A frozen sanctuary, a shield that will not give no matter the force, the strength of the blow.

When he steps into the oppressive heat of the Nether, then, alone, maybe it is not so surprising that Tubbo only feels relief.

His son is safe, Tommy is safe. He will get Ranboo back, hide him away as well.

And then Tubbo will finally, _finally_ be free to face Dream on his own.

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos give me life and also keep me from writing and posting in the middle of the night bc i needed validation at 1am
> 
> thanks so much for reading! hmu on twitter (@[sailingwastaken](https://twitter.com/sailingwastaken?s=11)) or tumblr (@[sailingthenightsea](https://sailingthenightsea.tumblr.com))


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